Chapter 13 #2
As we step onto the ice, the rink gleams—pristine, perfect, waiting for us to carve our story into it.
Our victory.
Fuck bad luck and jinxes and evil eyes. We’re going to win tonight. I refuse to settle for anything less, not with all my favorite girls here to cheer me on.
I’m going to give them a night they’ll always remember.
“ Réveillez les lwa ,” I shout as we wheel toward the bench to a roar that shakes the building.
It’s the Voodoo’s slogan— wake the spirits —an homage to our city and the supernatural level of hell we’re about to unleash on the Outlaws.
What follows is everything good hockey should be.
Fast, brutal, unrelenting, beautiful. We trade chances with the Outlaws, both teams flying.
The crowd loses its mind with every hit.
Parker’s everywhere at once, relentless on the forecheck.
Blue plays like a man possessed, reading every rush before it forms, sticking his big frame in the passing lanes.
And Nix, cool and surgical, picks off two odd-man rushes that could have ended ugly.
Even Torrance, after a shaky first shift where he whiffs on a clear and nearly coughs up a goal, settles down. By the end of the first, he’s stepping up, pinching at the blue line to keep pucks alive, feeding me slick little passes down low.
When I score off Parker’s incredible feed midway through the first—threading it through two defenders right onto my tape—I swear I can pick out Mimi’s scream from thousands of others.
The goal comes at the perfect time. We’d been hemmed in our zone for nearly two minutes, the Outlaws swarming like angry wasps, testing if we’d crack.
But we didn’t. Martineau stood on his head, swallowing pucks like a damn black hole.
We bent, we scrambled, we threw our bodies in front of pucks like grenades—Jean-Louis sprawled out to block a one-timer that had goal written all over it—and when Blue finally chipped it up the boards, I was already flying. Trusting he’d find me.
He did. He always does.
The second period gets nastier. The Outlaws realize we’re not going to roll over, so they start taking liberties—a slash here, a sneaky cross-check there.
Trying to get under our skin. Jean-Louis takes a questionable boarding call that has me screaming at the ref, but we kill it off with Parker selling out to block three shots in a row.
He limps back to the bench like a warrior, chest heaving .
“You good?” I ask as he collapses beside me.
“Fuck no,” he gasps, grinning through the pain. “But we’re winning this fucking game.”
And we do. When Parker buries one late in the second—a greasy goal off a scramble in the blue paint—I catch him pointing up at the stands. His family’s all here, split into different sections, but still united in love for their boy.
The third period is pure grind. Protect the lead, weather their push, trust our structure.
Nix and Blue are a wall, keeping things simple, hammering clears, punishing every Outlaw who gets within ten feet of Capo.
Our goalie is locked in, swallowing rebounds, tracking every puck through screens like he’s got X-ray vision.
It’s organized chaos when their coach pulls the goalie with two minutes left.
Sticks clash, bodies crash, the roar of the crowd surges and fades like the tide.
But we trust each other. Everybody knows their job.
Everybody does it. When I get the puck on my stick with thirty seconds left and a clear lane, there’s no hesitation.
I bury the empty-netter from center ice.
We win four to two, a statement victory that says we’re not just happy to be here. We’re here to compete.
We’re here to laissez les bons temps rouler .
After the handshake line—every one of us dripping sweat, half-smiling through exhaustion—and after the three stars ceremony (I’m second, Parker first, Blue third), I shower in record time.
Practically jog to the family waiting area, adrenaline still buzzing, the post-win high making everything sharper, brighter.
And then I see them—my girls—and the high gets a little sweeter. Mimi’s the first to spot me and launches herself in my direction like a tiny missile.
“Gee, you were so good!” she squeals as I swoop her up into a hug. “I cheered so loud when you scored, did you hear me?”
“I sure did, chère ,” I assure her as she pulls back to smile at me. “Loudest cheer in the whole arena.”
“She did her best to give our section hearing loss,” Elly says with a laugh.
“I was so proud of her. And of you! God, that second period when you were dead on your feet but stayed out for that whole shift! That’s what won this game, for real.
It was so good, Grammercy. So, so good. Just beautiful hockey and so much fun. ”
Her cheeks are flushed from cheering and the joy of a great game, and all I can think is… God, how lucky am I? To have found a woman who loves this sport as much as I do?
“Seriously, you guys could not have delivered a better season open,” she adds in a giddy voice, and then her arms are suddenly around both me and Mimi, and the joy of the night is complete.
She smells like arena popcorn and her sweet magnolia perfume, and all I want to do is keep her here. Right here, by my side, with our happy little girl giggling between us as she hugs us tight.
It feels so right, so precious, so much like family that I’m not really surprised when a voice calls out in a very familiar drawl, “Grammercy Germaine Graves, où tu es, mon garcon? ?a c’est mon bébé! Maman est fière à mourir!”
I pull back from the hug, beaming as I spot my little mama, hustling through the gathering crowd of family and friends like a tiny hurricane in a Voodoo jersey, as “proud to death” as she always is when I play .
Even when my team loses.
Beanie is loyal to the center of her hard-loving heart.
Bernadette Graves—Beanie to her friends, and she’ll make you her friend as soon as you stand still long enough—is five feet nothing of Creole determination wrapped in purple and green.
She’s pale like her father, but her salt-and-pepper curls are Haitian through and through.
Now, her signature mop is practically electrified with pride and excitement, forming a halo around her grinning face.
“Hey there, Mama!” I set Mimi down and step forward, lifting an arm to catch Beanie’s eye. “Get over here and let me hug you hard, ti maman !”
I swoop her up, giving her a spin before setting her back on her feet, where she laughs as she babbles, “ Magnifique, mon bébé! Tres magnifique! ” She pulls me down so she can kiss both my cheeks with a proud Cajun mama’s enthusiasm.
“But don’t be so sweet next time. Remember, chère , being a gentleman is only for?—”
“Off the ice,” I finish with a smile. She’s been saying the same thing since my brother and I were in Peewee leagues.
“ Exactement. ” Her sharp eyes dart past me, finding Elly and Mimi. I haven’t told her much about them except that Elly and I have been dating for a while and just moved in together, making it serious enough that it’s time for them to meet the family.
Past time, my mother will say I have no doubt, though I’ve yet to get feedback on my timing.
I deliberately waited to say anything about Elly and Mimi to my mother until this morning, knowing Beanie wouldn’t risk throwing me off my game on opening night by reading me the riot act for keeping my long-term girlfriend a secret .
But I’m sure to get an earful later, a suspicion my mama confirms as she mutters a soft warning for me to prepare myself to apologize for being a “secret keeper with snake manners” in French before adding in English, “And you must be Elly and Mimi! I’m so happy to meet you both.
Oh, you’re even prettier than Grammercy said.
Such beautiful, sweet ladies. Hearts of gold and sugar and fire, I can tell. Just from a glance.”
Mimi’s eyes widen, an awed smile spreading across her face as Beanie folds her into a loving embrace. “I like that!” she says as Mama pulls back. “A heart of gold and sugar and fire…”
“Well, good,” Beanie says, cupping Mimi’s cheek with a tenderness that assures me she’s already falling hard. “Because that’s what you have. And magic. I think you have some magic, too.”
“I think you both do,” Elly says as she steps forward, anxiety and warmth mixing in her expression as she graciously accepts one of Beanie’s too-hard hugs. “It’s so lovely to meet you, Ms. Graves. I’ve heard so many wonderful things. Thank you for raising such a wonderful man.”
My mama pulls back, beaming up at her. “Oh, sweetheart, call me Beanie. All my friends do, and I can already tell we’re going to be friends.
We mamas have to stick together.” She loops her arm through Elly’s like they’ve been partners in crime for a decade, then takes Mimi’s hand with her free one.
“Come on, ladies. Let’s go get some sweets for the sweet and talk all night.
Or at least until our petite bébé has to go home to get her beauty sleep before school tomorrow.
I made reservations for four at The Midnight Melody, where they have the best ice cream desserts and coffee desserts, and puff pastries.
” She winks as she adds, “And Café Br?lot for proud mamas who want a little kick in their sweet after a night like this. My treat!”
“Oh, Beanie, thank you, I love ice cream so much,” Mimi says, bouncing along beside my mother as she heads for the exit, completely charmed. “This is the best night ever!”
And just like that, we’re off, swept into my mother’s hurricane of love and fun and shameless sticking-her-nose-as-deep-into-my-business as possible.
By the time we’re settled at our table at The Midnight Melody, Beanie knows Elly’s entire work history, Mimi’s favorite subjects in school, her art teacher’s name, and has all of us on lock for Sunday lunch next week.